


took a tumble

by vaultboii



Category: Cuphead (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Gender-neutral Reader, Self-Indulgent, Waltzing, since it was liked so much in the discord group i posted it here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 14:15:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13273197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaultboii/pseuds/vaultboii
Summary: you almost tripped. glad wheezy caught you, though.





	took a tumble

**Author's Note:**

> ha this is so self-indulgent, i'm dying.
> 
> have some cigar for the soul

**AND, THUS YOU FELL.**

Your shoe caught. There was barely time to react; carpet veered up, and your drink tipped forward, and suddenly the floor was very close.  _ Extremely  _ close. So close, in fact, you could smell the vaguely fresh shampoo from the carpet. However, you hadn’t bit it, and that didn’t quite make sense. Gravity existed, and through gravity, you should have hit the floor.

Oh. There was something holding you up. A hand, which connected to an arm, which led all the way to a crisp velvet jacket and fur. Loads of fur, tucked all neatly in an overflowing jacket that hung over the man like a cape. Something stank, but it was a rich, delicious fragrance; like a flowery lounge in those high-end bars, tasting like the overpowering bite of scotch and the suffocating fumes of burning embers. It was the smell one could get from cuddling near a fireplace, sparks and ashes flying upwards as the flavour of burnt pine floated through the air to you.

“Well now,” a voice purred so slowly, and hands turned you to face upwards. An eyebrow twitched ever-so slowly upwards, and Wheezy’s face slowly turned into a mischievous smile. “Fancy the chances.”

“Ah,” and you really couldn’t say much with your waist held so enticingly by those hands, as soft creamy gloves brushed up against your skin and tickled. “Mr. Wheezy – well, what are the chances –”

“Yes, fancy the chances,” Wheezy continued onwards with that smirk just deepening at your voice, and somehow, he seemed to be leaning a bit closer. The lounge rang with cheery laughter, and glasses clinked as celebrations carried onwards without a single glance towards the cigar and you. “You always seem to be,” and one glove caressed its fine way up to your shoulder, “ _ Stumbling  _ around me. I’m starting to wonder if a certain so and so is tripping purposefully now.”

He knew damn well you weren’t tripping on purpose. Of course, before you could get a word about that, in he had already slid straight into another murmur. “Well, it’s not like I’m the one to  _ complain _ ,” and that wretched glove on your waist pulled you just a little closer that you could feel the warmth radiating from inside the cigars body. Velvet pressed against your hands, and suddenly you found your hands on his chest.  _ Wretched flirt.  _ “I do enjoy these moments we have together, darling.”

And, as if Satan below had seen you trapped by the cigar and wanted his own little laugh to your flustered misery, the orchestra struck up a mesmerizing waltz, and Wheezy’s eyes perked up enough that you could see the idea rocket from one side of the brain to the other. “Let’s dance,” the cigar invited you without a second thought, and suddenly disortention from the fall suddenly turned to stumbling as Wheezy guided you to the dance floor. A violin hummed and a key plucked, and then Wheezy’s hands were on your waist, a smile beaming away as that fur coat span to the drone of hypnotic strings. 

And, damn, was he good at the waltz. You found yourself tripping at the intense beat of the orchestra, and somehow Wheezy’s chest always seemed to be the first thing you crashed into. It didn’t seem to phase the cigar either; no, he just grinned all the wider and adjusted until you fell back into rhythm. 

Finally, somehow the rhythm came to you. Maybe it was the guiding steps of the cigar. Maybe it was the smile he gave you as you fumbled along. Or, perhaps, it was the hand he still had on your waist, heavy and caring as it kindly led you along despite your inexperience. Whatever it was, it had your steps in sync with the cigars, and suddenly you started noticing other things than your blinding clumsiness. Things like the smoke trail that followed the both of you around the dance floor, how the coat swung side to side as Wheezy led you through the swarm of couples, the way that quirk of Wheezy’s eyebrows twitched at every switch of a verse and how he shifted his left foot faster than his right. Small details, yet how boldly they stood out now, and your heart began to pound rapidly in your chest.

The song grew faster. You didn’t really notice until a violin screeched in delight and suddenly Wheezy was really close, and  _ god,  _ the song was over and he had dipped you just as the last violin ended with an exaggerated flourish. 

And oh, your hand slipped, enough down his waist that it was resting on his thigh. The grin grew a little larger, and without a second thought, the cigar perched in the Pit Boss’ mouth was flung away onto the hardwood and crushed underfoot by couples leaving the floor. The cigar leaned forward, and perhaps it hadn’t been such a bad thing, tripping over your own shoe. Not when you could taste the burning embers of smoke. Not when Wheezy had you so loving wrapped in his hands, and clutching as if you were the most fragile, most precious thing in the world that had happened to him. No, perhaps it was for the best. 

Embers did hold such a rich taste, after all.


End file.
